


An Outstretched Hand

by maxxeoff



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Catboy!Shiro, Human-Animal Hybrids, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Trans Keith (Voltron), afab language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-06-26 05:03:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15656319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxxeoff/pseuds/maxxeoff
Summary: Keith got fired from his job, and just wants to get home to drink and mope. However, there's a minor hiccup when he almost runs over a beautiful cat hybrid with a severely injured arm.Keith takes the cat hybrid home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by @fonbella's post on tumblr bemoaning the lack of catboy Shiro aus. I tried.
> 
> I don't know how to link things so here's the url: https://fonbella.tumblr.com/post/176362911467/be-the-change-you-wanna-see-i-guess-couldnt

The sunset whips across Keith’s visor as he flies down the street. Fuck everything. It’s not his fault his boss is a fucking idiot. Keith had only said what was true, that the article was factually incorrect and how could the editor-in-chief of their small-town newspaper write such bullcrap. He pushes away the tiny part of him that whispers that he’s stupid for throwing away a job that could help him achieve his dream career, and that he should have let the shit article run. Not even an assistant journalist position with the promise of a raise could keep him from blabbing his stupid ethical code at every chance he gets.

Keith speeds around a corner, eager to get out of town and back to his little place in the middle of bum-fuck-who-cares. He inherited it from his dad when he turned eighteen and was finally out of the system. It’s a shitty, run-down shack but it’s home. He needs tonight for self-hatred and whiskey so he can clear his head for the inevitable job-hunt tomorrow.

He hates job-hunting.

The shitty town with its shitty people is almost behind him when someone darts out into the street in front of his motorcycle. Cursing vividly, Keith yanks the handlebars to the side and hits the breaks, narrowly avoiding throwing himself off into the rough pavement. He’s lucky that it’s just past rush hour and in a small town that means no one on the road. Keith tears his helmet off, leaps off his bike, and starts yelling.

“What the fuck were you thinking? I almost hit you, wearing all black at this time of –”

Keith cuts himself off. On the road, cowering and scooting away from Keith, is a hybrid.

Hybrids are exceedingly rare nowadays, with hybrid rights activists pushing for much stricter laws regarding their engineering and sale over the past decade. Now, hybrids come only from the most reputable organizations and belong to wealthy individuals with perfect records or people in need of a round-the-clock aid for disability purposes. One rarely, if ever, sees hybrids outside of the cities, and definitely not all alone on the street.

This is not Keith’s area of expertise. He’s only seen an animal-human hybrid in person once, and that was when he was fifteen, living in a big group home in the city. Then, he had access to malls and such. He doesn’t miss those days, but now he wishes he had paid more attention to the activist groups on television so he could know what to do. He breathes in and approaches slowly, giving himself time to think.

“Hey, buddy, you okay? Where’s your –” he cringes at the next word, “owner?” At that, the hybrid flicks his ears back farther than before – a cat hybrid? – and starts to hyperventilate. Well, fuck. Good going, Kogane.

Keith decides to forgo words, since they seem to be failing him as always. The cat hybrid is now scraping at himself with sharp claws and shaking. Keith can now see that the black jeans and shirt are spotted with blood, and the hybrid’s right arm is ground zero. It’s absolutely wrecked, obvious even though it is mostly obscured by a battered sleeve. He needs to act fast, or the injured hybrid will go into shock.

Checking the road around them to be sure there aren’t any cars, Keith gets on his knees and crawls the rest of the way towards the huddled form. He places a hand on a shaking knee, causing the hybrid to jump and look at him dead in the eye. Now Keith sees that this cat-person is beautiful, despite his injuries. Bright grey eyes shine underneath luxurious eyebrows, and long hair falls around the hybrid’s broad shoulders. A faded, horizontal scar adorns his nose. _He’s big_ , Keith thinks distantly.

Now that he has the man’s attention, Keith scoots a bit closer and reaches out with his other hand towards the hybrid’s face. Despite a flinch making Keith pause, the man hesitantly lays his head down in Keith’s palm, closing his eyes. Heart clenching at the implicit trust of the action, Keith strokes some white and black hair from the man’s face and gently ruffles a large, triangular ear. It is jet black with a tinge of white at the tip, matching the hybrid’s hair. Keith pulls the man’s head to his shoulder, and holds him.

“It’s okay.” He whispers.

The man takes a shaky breath against Keith’s neck and whispers back in a deep, melodic voice, “I need to get out of here.”

The statement takes Keith by surprise. What does he mean? Then he glances over the man’s shoulder and realizes they are kneeling on an open road, both in dark clothes, with the sun fading rapidly. “Oh man, right, we should get off the road.” Keith starts to stand, but is caught by the hybrid’s strong left hand.

“No!” The hybrid looks terrified.

“… You don’t want to get off the road?” Keith hedges. He is more than a little confused right now, and the cat-person’s cryptic words aren’t helping.

The hybrid’s grip loosens, and he laughs, low and self-deprecating. “My master threw me out,” – a deep breath followed by a shiver – “and I can’t risk him changing his mind.”

Keith eyes the prominent facial scar and bloodied arm. He can put together what is left unsaid. Keith straightens, and holds out a hand.

“Can you stand?” The man’s beautiful eyes blink, and then he grasps Keith’s proffered hand and stands to his full height. _God, he’s probably a head taller than me_ , Keith muses, before leading the man to his motorcycle on the other side of the road.

Keith hands the cat hybrid his bright red helmet, sternly tells him to “Put it on,” and rights his bike. Once seated, Keith pats the space behind him, looking expectantly at the anxious man standing above him.

Long tail swishing, the hybrid asks, “You don’t need a helmet?”, still holding the item in his hands.

Keith snorts, saying, “I only wear it out of respect for the law. I’m the best driver I’ve ever seen.”

At that, the cat-person quirks an eyebrow and twists his mouth into something like a smile. Then, he pulls the helmet firmly onto his head and allows Keith to help adjust it before sliding on the bike behind him. A strong arm snakes around Keith’s middle, the injured one probably hanging to the side. Keith takes off.

 

They pull up to Keith’s little shack with dust billowing around them, thrown up by the wheels. Keith steps off after the hybrid, accepting the helmet from the taller man and placing it on the seat before he throws a rain cover over his bike. He looks up, and notices the man flicking his ears and finger-brushing his hair. _He’s preening_ , Keith realizes, suddenly extra glad that he had insisted the hybrid wear a helmet and muss his hair. Keith pays no mind to his own more-than-windswept locks and leads the way inside.

Immediately, he directs the man to sit down at Keith’s crappy wooden table and grabs his hefty first aid kit. Having meager health insurance, Keith has learned to make do. He eyes the bloody arm as he sits in front of the hybrid, and grimaces.

“I’m going to have to cut your shirt off. I don’t want to make this worse by pulling it over your head.” Keith states. The man’s eyes darken in understanding resignation, and holds out his arm.

Keith makes quick work of the black cotton, and then stops, gaping. The arm is strewn with long lacerations, crisscrossing in a way that could only suggest flogging. Barely any section of the arm is spared, even the hand bearing a few long cuts. It’s disgusting, and Keith blinks back tears. How could someone _do_ this? Why whip someone you intentionally brought into your home?

Keith is broken out of his horrified trance when the uninjured hand cradles his face. He looks up into sad eyes, a look Keith recognizes from his years in the system. “It’s okay,” the man roughs out, and Keith’s tears overflow.

“No, it’s not,” he growls back, and gets to work.

 

 After the lacerations are dressed and Keith is firmly out of gauze, he looks up once again into the face of the cat hybrid. What he finds there is the most beautiful small smile Keith thinks he has ever been witness to.

“Thank you,” the man murmurs. Keith feels his face heat for no reason at all.

Averting his gaze, embarrassed by his blushing, Keith says “No problem. Anyone would have done it.”

“That’s not true,” comes the response. He glances back at the hybrid and finds him glowering darkly at the floor. “People see injured hybrids as a nuisance, as … defective. That’s why I was thrown away.”

Keith bristles. “But this isn’t your fault! This was your shitty owner, right? Either they did this themselves or chose to not stop it!” Keith’s fists are balled up on his thighs, and anger pulses through him. He doesn’t notice the hybrid tensing up.

“Please, I don’t want to –” the man swallows and Keith realizes he was out of line, “I don’t think I can –” Keith fills in the blanks: _I don’t think I can talk about this._ Keith feels like an ass.

To stop the man from folding further into himself, Keith reaches out and holds the hybrid’s hands in his own, smaller ones.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. The hybrid lowers his head to lightly rest against Keith’s.

“It’s okay,” he whispers back, eyes closed.

They stay like that, forehead-to-forehead, for a few long moments. Keith didn’t realize how nice it is to just _be_ with another person. He’s not even sure he’s ever been this close to someone on purpose in his adult life. He glances up, and suddenly becomes very aware that this hybrid is not wearing a shirt. Muscled chests and Keith don’t mix; he can’t get toned quite like that himself, and he avoids looking at the shirtless bros in the gym because they just make him angry. But this, this beautiful hybrid with his defined pecs and flat belly, this doesn’t make Keith angry.

Keith pulls away hastily from the gentle touch he had been sharing with the hybrid, who looks up, surprised. Not wanting to embarrass himself further, Keith splutters out a cover.

“Uh, we should eat dinner. It’s getting late.”

 

While Keith boils a large pot of water and throws together a hasty puttanesca sauce, he offers his name and stares down the man for a response.

Quirking his mouth into a funny smile, the hybrid says, “My chip lists me as Takashi Shirogane, but I … prefer to go by Shiro.” Keith doesn’t quite understand the wry tone, but brushes past it.

“It’s nice to meet you, Shiro.”

 

Shiro ends up eating twice as much as Keith, meekly accepting seconds. Keith isn’t necessarily surprised, but is still amazed, because he himself has been referred to as a vacuum. He refuses to think of the darker implication behind Shiro’s hunger.

After cleaning up with fumbling help on Shiro’s part, Keith goes to take a shower and process the events of the day.

He turns the water on as hot as it gets and peels of his clothes, ignoring the angry scars under his nipples. They’ll heal, and finally Keith will be able to look at his chest without feeling awful about himself. The steady journalism job is what allowed him to take on big financial investments like his motorcycle and the surgery. Keith scowls as he steps under the scalding stream; now he’s gone and fucked up the only job he’s had for longer than a month. Maybe he really should break out that whiskey.

Keith rolls his shoulders and wills them to relax for once. Even without the article fiasco, Keith has not had a great day. Almost running over an abused hybrid on the road is not a good thing. Though, Keith ponders as he scrubs shampoo into his rat’s nest, it’s not bad to have Shiro in his home with him. Keith hates having people over, but Shiro feels different. Maybe it’s the adorable ears and tail.

What is he going to do about Shiro? Keith knows next to nothing about hybrids or hybrid law, but he thinks he remembers that an owner surrender leaves the hybrid for the taking. Not that Keith wants to own Shiro. He can barely take care of himself, how could he possibly take care of a high-class cross-breed? Shiro is probably used to the high life, and Keith’s twenty-year-old shanty won’t do. _Not that the high life worked out that well for him,_ Keith thinks darkly.

Keith steps out of the shower pretending to be more confident about the situation than he is. He’s an adult, he can do this.

Drying his hair and stepping into boxers and an oversized band t-shirt makes Keith feel a bit better about everything until he opens the bathroom door and sees Shiro standing awkwardly and still shirtless in the middle of his room and realizes he has nowhere for the hybrid to sleep. Or anything for him to sleep _in_ , for that matter. Shit.

Keith discards his towel and steps up to Shiro, and instead of addressing these issues, stalls.

“D – do you need to take a shower, too?” The cat hybrid wrinkles his nose and Keith feels like an idiot. “Oh shit, cats don’t like water, do they?”

Shiro chuckles shyly, and Keith is temporarily lost in the lighthearted but deep sound, thinking Shiro should do that more. He snaps out of it when Shiro clarifies, “No, I don’t really like water, but I’m mostly worried about my arm getting wet.” Oh. Of course. Bandages.

But now Keith is on a mission. He wants his guest to feel as welcome as possible, and getting clean is important. Besides, Shiro kind of smells like sweat and street.

“I have a tub, you should take a bath. I can wash your hair for you.” Shiro looks a little surprised, but agrees.

As Keith rinses any gross hairs of his that might be left over from his shower and starts to fill the metal tub up, he realizes what he has just offered. Willing himself not to blush, he pours in half of the bottle of shampoo to hopefully create suds enough that Shiro can have a modicum of privacy. He turns around politely when Shiro steps out of his pants and into the warm water – Keith made sure to not let it be too hot or too cold, wanting it to be as comfortable as possible – and then he hears a splash followed by an undignified yelp. Keith spins, and immediately gets an eyeful of muscled back, a puffed-out tail, and … Shiro’s ass. The hybrid in question turns sheepishly towards Keith when a strangled noise inevitably leaves his throat, and says, “Sorry, sorry, I’ll get in properly.”

Keith covers his forehead with his hand less in an effort to protect Shiro’s dignity – the hybrid doesn’t much seem to care that he’s naked, actually – and more to keep himself from laughing. Shiro had definitely understated his dislike for water.

Keith speaks up to reassure the cat-man, “We’ll be quick; you’ll be in and out of there in no time.” Shiro smiles gratefully at Keith before fully lowering himself into the bathwater, which, Keith notes, is pleasantly bubbly and thus opaque.

Grabbing his bar soap and the rest of his shampoo, Keith instructs Shiro: “Wash your body while I get your hair, but keep your right arm out of the water.” The man takes the soap from Keith with his left hand and starts to gingerly rub his body with it, almost like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Keith rolls his eyes where Shiro can’t see him. “Just make sure to get your armpits, alright?” Shiro turns a little pink and nods quickly.

The next few minutes are filled only with the sounds of light splashing and displeased mumbles from the cat hybrid. Keith tries to make quick work of Shiro’s hair, but it’s hard. The long hair is tangled and surprisingly full of dirt, causing Keith to use up most of the rest of his shampoo. He carefully avoids Shiro’s ears, worried about getting soap or water in the large orifices. Carding his hands through the hair with conditioner proves to be Keith’s favorite part. He once had hair this long, when he was a kid, but never so perfectly straight. He wonders about the streak of white at the front of Shiro’s head, but decides not to ask the man about it. It’s not dyed to be that way, given the similar hue at the top of Shiro’s ears, and Keith can only assume a traumatic history.

Hair and body clean, Keith holds out a fresh towel for the man. It’s ratty and old, but Shiro accepts it gratefully and starts to pat himself. Not needed for this part, Keith hurries back into his room to look for something – anything – that Shiro could wear.

Tearing through his drawers, Keith realizes what a pitiful collection of clothing he has. His shirts are all much too small for Shiro, and mostly dirty at this point of the week. He needs to do laundry. Underwear is a different matter completely, Keith knowing that his thighs are maybe half the girth of Shiro’s. Defeated, Keith looks down at what he is currently wearing – a shirt and boxers a few sizes too big – and peels them off. He throws on some boxer-briefs and a tank top, feeling exposed, and shoves his oversized clothes through the bathroom door.

“Here – these were the only things I have that might fit you. Sorry if they smell like me, but I promise I only wore them for twenty minutes.” He feels a gentle hand take the clothes, and a small “thank you, Keith” eases his embarrassment.

A moment later, Shiro emerges, looking shrink-wrapped in the shirt, the band logo stretching to accommodate his pectorals. The boxers are a little better, but leave no room for the imagination. Keith starts to apologize again, but then notices Shiro’s dripping wet hair.

“Wai– Shiro, you didn’t dry your hair!” Keith admonishes, and Shiro looks at the floor. His ears flick back and forth nervously. “Oh, man, I didn’t mean it in a bad way, it’s just got to be uncomfortable for you,” Keith tacks on.

Shiro looks chastised despite Keith’s explanation – _I really am shitty at talking_ , Keith thinks – and quietly says, “I don’t like it when the towel brushes my ears.”

Keith blinks, and steps towards the taller man, who flinches. One of Shiro’s ears is back, as if not fully sure Keith isn’t going to hit him. Oh god.

Keith holds out his hand, palm up, and says, “If you want, I can try to dry your hair without touching your ears.” Shiro finally looks up at him, and there’s that sweet little smile again that zaps Keith right in the heart. He places his hand in Keith’s.

“Okay.”

 

When the cat hybrid’s long hair is as dry as it can get via towel, Keith grabs an elastic and braids the hair loosely. It looks pretty on him, Keith judges. If only the shirt wasn’t so comically tight. They’ll have to get Shiro some new clothes tomorrow. They head back into Keith’s bedroom together, and Keith has decided where Shiro should sleep.

“I’m tired. You probably are, too. This is my bed.” Keith gestures to his old queen-sized mattress and askew linens.

Shiro looks at him quizzically, and replies, “Goodnight, then. Should I sleep on the floor in here or in the main room?”

Cold rushes down Keith’s spine, and then a flare of white-hot anger. He tampers it down to try and speak gently to the man in front of him; “No, neither. You can sleep with me.” At Shiro’s obvious hesitation, Keith continues with an attempted smile, “I’ll try not to kick you in my sleep.”

The cat hybrid stiffens up, and starts to pick at his claws. Keith backtracks; he’s overstepped. “Of course, you don’t have to. I can go sleep on the couch and you can sleep here.” Keith looks down at his own hands, which are starting to shake.

Shiro grows bright red, which is … not the reaction Keith expected. “No, no, I _want_ to –” Shiro cuts himself off, clears his throat, and tries again. “I’m fine with sleeping with you. Hybrids were engineered to desire close physical contact, it’s just …” He pauses. “I was never allowed to have any like this.”

Keith’s heart breaks. He opens his arms wide in an offering, and after a moment, Shiro leans into him and holds him tight. Keith leads them to the bed, reaches to turn out the light, and pulls the blankets over them both. After a moment of contemplation, he scoots closer to Shiro, and wraps his arms around his large chest, moving to stroke the man’s back slowly. As he drifts off, Keith swears he hears Shiro purr.


	2. Chapter 2

Warmth. That’s something that Shiro has not felt in a long time. And this isn’t the white-hot of a zippo lighter under his feet, or the slowly burning heat of the sun on bruised skin. This warmth is from contact with another person.

He opens his eyes by fractions, trying to savor this dream. But when his eyes are fully open and he’s sure he’s awake, Shiro can still feel the furnace of a body pressed against his own, and can see dark hair that doesn’t belong to him.

Shiro stiffens. This can’t be right. Did Master get another pet and shove them in what counts as Shiro’s room? It wouldn’t be the first time, but Master usually wore them down too fast. The body tucked against his is certainly being familiar, what with their limbs everywhere and entwined in Shiro’s. This new hybrid must still be naïve.

The mess of wavy, dark hair stirs and Shiro gets ready for anything. Hazy, vibrant blue eyes meet his own, and a rough voice asks, “Shiro?”.

Oh.

It’s Keith.

Master abandoned him miles from what is familiar, and this Keith picked him up.

Suddenly, there is a flurry of motion, and Keith is backed up against the wall, tangled in sheets instead of Shiro’s arms. “Oh god, sorry, I didn’t mean to hold on to you like that, that was totally inappropriate, it’s just that I don’t usually sleep with anyone, I mean –”

Keith is rambling. It lights up a burst of warmth from inside, this time, and _that_ is definitely an unfamiliar feeling. He misses the physical warmth, and vaguely wishes that Keith would come back. The rambling is sort of cute, though, even if Shiro doesn’t understand the issue.

The smaller boy has trailed off and is avoiding Shiro’s eyes, red-faced. Shiro attempts to make the situation better, despite being completely out of the loop.

“Uh. It’s … okay?”

The spark of warmth floods throughout Shiro’s blood when Keith finally meets his eyes and offers a small smile. Shiro hopes that Keith will keep him, if this is something that he could potentially see every day.

Yeah, right. Like Keith would want such a damaged and ugly pet.

While Shiro has been zoning out, Keith seems to have moved on from his previous embarrassment and is climbing over Shiro’s legs. He checks the time display next to the bed and groans.

“Damn it, it’s already ten?!” Shiro flinches at the tone. Did he mess up Keith’s schedule by being here? Keith must have a million important things to do every day, as a full human, if Shiro’s previous master’s behavior is anything to go by. He doesn’t know what, exactly, humans need to do so consistently outside of the house. It’s not like he gets to ask or see for himself.

Keith is opening drawers hurriedly and pulling out several articles of clothing. Shiro stays quietly seated in bed, hoping that if he doesn’t say anything, Keith will let him stay for a little longer. Then, Keith glances at Shiro in what he guesses is supposed to be a surreptitious way, and scoots into the bathroom to get changed.

That’s strange. Why won’t Keith change here? His owner – _previous_ owner, he reminds himself – was never shy about his genitals or general modesty around Shiro. But then again, Shiro was only ever in his bedroom for one thing.

Well, if Keith is putting different clothes on, Shiro probably should too. He reluctantly gets out of Keith’s warm, soft bed, and finds the dark jeans in which he was thrown out on the floor. He’s lucky that Master only focused on the offending limb – his right arm – instead of also targeting his legs and, therefore, his pants. Shimmying off the cotton boxers that Keith lent him is easier than getting them on was, but Shiro goes slowly to avoid ripping something that doesn’t belong to him. Then, he pulls up the underwear and pants he was wearing yesterday.

As Shiro is clasping his tail into the slot in the back of his jeans so that it is unrestrained, Keith steps out of the bathroom and groans. Shit. Should Shiro have been waiting exactly where he was left, instead?

His fears are quickly assuaged when Keith says, “We _need_ to get you new clothes.” Keith gives Shiro an appraising look. “Those pants are pretty gross, and you can’t just keep wearing that tiny shirt around.”

Well, that’s an easy fix. Shiro starts to pull the shirt off himself but Keith goes comically red, and his voice is up an octave when he says, “I didn’t mean to take it _off_ , idiot, just – just keep wearing it until I get you something else.” The hybrid blinks, and Keith stalks away, calling, “I’m going to make breakfast. I pulled out an unused toothbrush, you can go use it before we eat.”

Keith leaves Shiro standing in the middle of the bedroom, a bit dumbfounded. It’s nice that he gets to keep the shirt on; it always feels uncomfortable being bare in autumn. Shiro walks into the bathroom, sees a simple purple toothbrush resting on the sink, and does what he was told.

While brushing, Shiro contemplates the luxury of breakfast. He was fed so much for dinner last night, and he gets to eat again within twelve hours? Keith is a saint, he decides as he washes his mouth with water and pads to the kitchen section of the main room. The ‘Keith is a saint’ theory is only strengthened when he gets there.

Standing in front of the tiny gas stove is Keith, scooping eggs-over-easy onto two plates with toast. He looks like an angel, clad in a vibrant red sweater, tight jeans, the smell of calm and good food. Keith’s hair is tied up in a ponytail, and Shiro doesn’t think he has ever appreciated hair ties more.

The angel turns around when Shiro steps close and hands him the two plates of glorious nourishment, instructing, “Put these on the table, I’ll go get some orange juice. Do you like orange juice?”

Shiro nods dumbly, having never actually had juice before, and places the food on the table where he and Keith sat last night. The hybrid continues to stand awkwardly as Keith returns to his side and hands him a glass of liquid the color of the sun. Only when Keith quirks his eyebrow and says, “Sit down, silly,” does Shiro move.

Breakfast is heavenly. The yolks of the eggs are runny and Shiro drags pieces of toast through the mess blissfully, savoring the taste when he takes a bite. And the juice … the juice is something else. It’s so sweet and tangy, making Shiro feel like his mouth is experiencing what he thinks a fireworks festival might be. He doesn’t understand how Keith isn’t moaning at every bite and sip, like Shiro wants to. How nice it must be to get used to this.

After finishing his first piece of toast and an egg, Shiro dares to ask a question.

“Um.” Keith looks at him with that piercing gaze of his, and Shiro struggles to finish his thought. “K-Keith, uh, sir, you mentioned getting new clothes for me. Um.” Shiro swallows nervously. “Does this mean that you’re going to keep me?”

Keith splutters and his eyes go wide, and then hollers, “Don’t call me sir!”

Oh. Shiro feels his ears go back and lets his hope die. He speaks quietly, “I’m sorry, I guess I misunderstood. I can leave now.” He starts to stand up, but Keith is quicker, leaping to his feet.

“No, that’s not what I said at all!” The human looks frantic, clutching the side of the table and scrunching his eyebrows. “I just meant, you can call me Keith. Just Keith.” Shiro’s heart soars. Unintentionally, he can feel himself start to trust Keith implicitly. He follows when Keith sits back down and fiddles with his fork as Keith continues to speak.

“I don’t know about the way you put it, either. I’m not sold on the whole ‘owner’ thing.” Noticing Keith won’t meet his eyes, Shiro quirks an ear back nervously. “I’d rather we be equals, y’know?”

No, Shiro does not know. Hybrids are lesser than, and Keith is suggesting something that he had never dare dream. Shiro tries to respond to Keith with something, anything, but can only release a sob. Damn, when did he become so emotional?

The next thing Shiro processes is arms around him, and a soft hand stroking his head and ears. Hiccupping, the hybrid wraps his good arm around the human and squeezes as tight as he dares. Keith is too good to be true. Maybe yesterday Shiro really was hit by a motorcycle, and he somehow made it into heaven.

A weight settles on Shiro’s legs, and Keith is sitting on his lap and repositioning the hug. Shiro feels a million times closer to Keith like this, and loses even more of his inhibitions. This way, Shiro can bury his nose in Keith’s hair and neck like he did when they first met, yesterday. He can smell the shampoo they both used last night, giving off suggestions of artificial strawberry. He can also smell a bit of himself on Keith, which mends something within his gut.

“So, I can stay?” Shiro husks out. He needs explicit verbal confirmation. The hold on him gets tighter.

“I’ll do everything I can to let that happen, if that’s what you want.” Keith whispers fiercely.

“…I do.”

 

It’s amazing to Shiro how quickly he has become enamored with this human. He has never felt close to anyone before, emotionally, not even the fleeting hybrids Master eventually damages beyond repair, but Keith breaks down his walls with his soft candor and strident personality. Not only does Keith treat him like he’s valuable, but the young man respects him. Shiro is beyond grateful that Keith did not try to call him by his first name and violate his last invisible barrier of defense; somehow, that feels more intimate.

Right now, Shiro is perched on the old couch and watching Keith bustle around. The hybrid would be completely lost as to what he was doing, as he usually is with Master’s actions, but Keith actually bothers to explain it all to him.

“I lost my job yesterday – don’t ask, by the way, I’m just an idiot – so today I’m going to apply to a few places around town so that we can eat.” From Keith’s tone, Shiro senses that the last part is a joke, and nods along despite his mild confusion. “These papers,” Keith holds up some slightly crinkled sheets with black lettering, “are copies of my résumé, which hopefully someone today will actually read.”

With his thin messenger bag apparently packed, Keith stands in front of Shiro sheepishly.

“I don’t know how you feel about being dragged around to random businesses in town.” Keith looks down at his entwined hands, and then glances up through his eyelashes at Shiro. The hybrid dismisses the way his heart jumps and tries to answer the unasked question.

“I, I don’t usually go out of the house, or at least, I didn’t with my master unless I was being shown off.” He clears his throat awkwardly, not knowing the proper protocol for this sort of thing. “… Do you want to show me off at the random businesses?”

Keith bursts into surprised laughter, sounding much younger than he probably is for a moment. Shiro stores the sound away to keep while he waits patiently for some sort of explanation.  

Wiping his eyes, Keith giggles, “No, I don’t actually think that would be a good idea. They might think I stole you or something.” Well, that’s a legitimate concern, unfortunately. Shiro understands that Keith is much less materially wealthy than the people who have owned him. “Do you want to stay here for a few hours while I go get you some clothes and me a job? I have lots of books for you to read, and shitty internet.”

That makes Shiro pause. “…Books?” He asks, tentatively.

Keith quirks a lovely eyebrow and places his hands on his hips. “Yeah? Do you like reading?”

“I don’t, I don’t know,” Shiro stammers, “I was only taught to read for practical purposes, and I haven’t had to do it in a while.”

Shiro doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone’s eyes look so huge before.

“You haven’t read _books?_ ” Keith asks incredulously. The boy shakes his head, causing his ponytail to flop side to side, and grabs Shiro’s uninjured hand. “Come on, come over here, we’ve got to get you started on that.” Shiro follows awkwardly as Keith leads them back into his bedroom and to a crammed bookshelf. The hybrid had noticed it before, but it feels different now that he knows he has privileges to it. Now, the bookshelf feels like mystery and opportunity. Keith hands him a particularly battered paperback with a faded lion roaring on the cover in a winter-scape.

“Here. This one’s my favorite.” Shiro notices Keith’s eyes go soft and dreamy, and clutches the book tighter. “My dad read it to me as a kid. It’s an old fantasy novel, wanna try it?”

Does Shiro _ever_. At this point, Shiro thinks he will do anything to please Keith, especially if that entails _reading_. He nods emphatically.

Keith smiles. “Good.” Shiro’s heart races for no reason he can put a finger on.

 

After that’s settled, Keith insists on re-braiding Shiro’s hair, checking the gauze on his arm, and then takes his measurements. If Shiro is being honest to himself, this is the most comfortable he has felt with touch in his whole life. _And I’ve known him for less than a day_ , he marvels.

Shiro tries to stay still but is pretty sure Keith can hear him purring low in his chest, and when Keith wraps his arms around Shiro to get the circumference of his chest, the hybrid can’t help but lean forward and nuzzle the boy’s head. Keith looks at him with bright eyes and a sweet smile before getting back to mumbling numbers, and Shiro can feel that warmth again.

Keith leaves Shiro with three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the small refrigerator and a promise to come home with ‘awesome’ clothes and maybe even a job.

This is normally the time when Shiro would try to take a nap in the sun if his master had left him in a room with windows, but the hybrid is feeling so well-rested. Best of all, he doesn’t _have_ to waste the day away letting gray matter fall out of his ears, or contemplate what Master will do with him when he returns. So, he just sits on the couch, adjusts so his tail is wrapped around his curled legs, and opens the book Keith picked out for him.

It takes a few minutes for Shiro to get his bearings with the small printed words barely absorbing into his head before he realizes that he has been reading the page listing the editor and publishing details. It takes a few more solid minutes to read through the first page of the story, and by then, Shiro is bewitched. _This_ is what reading for pleasure feels like? Why aren’t people’s noses stuck in books at every second?

Reading is slow-going, but the day passes by alarmingly fast. Only his grumbling stomach reminds Shiro of the lunch Keith made for him, and even while eating, he cannot put down the book. It is positively enchanting. Sometimes, he says the words out loud to himself just to feel the magic on his tongue.

Shiro is still reeling from the feelings imparted to him by the last page of the book when he hears a rumble approaching from outside. Excited, Shiro puts the book down and bounces on his toes by the door, tail swishing eagerly and ears pricked forward. He distantly notices that it’s dark out. When the door opens to reveal a wind-ruffled Keith with little pink ears from the cold, Shiro buries his head in the boy’s neck and squeezes him tight. He didn’t realize how much he missed him.

“Woah, hey buddy, how was your day?” Keith chuckles as he drops his bags and hugs Shiro back. The hybrid only purrs loudly in response, breathing in Keith’s scent and possessively rubbing his own into the boy’s skin.

“Well, if you’ll let go of me for a second, I have some good news.” Keith’s voice lilts up at the end, spiking Shiro’s curiosity. He leans back to look properly at the full human, but leaves his hands on Keith’s trim waist. Keith smirks, evidently proud of himself. The expression seems natural on the young man’s face, and Shiro grins widely back, feeling his old scar stretching across his face.

“I got a job at the Marmora Garage as a mechanic!”

Shiro still doesn’t quite understand the significance, but feels Keith’s joy pulse through himself as well and holds the young man close again. Giddiness in his veins, Shiro presses against Keith and starts to groom his hairless ear, lapping along the smooth shell.

Keith yelps and whips his head around to face Shiro, looking mystified. Deciding that the boy’s response is not negative, Shiro leans his forehead against the other’s, smiles softly, and whispers, “Good job.”

The shorter man freezes, and Shiro can see him go red. _Why does he keep going that color?_ Shiro wonders, and surprises himself by thinking, _It suits him_.

Still blushing, Keith mumbles, “Thanks,” and pulls away to grab his bags and step into the bedroom.

Left at the front door, Shiro worries that he went too far. Maybe Keith doesn’t like being groomed. It’s hard to help his nature, but he’ll try if Keith asks him to.

These thoughts leave him as Keith sticks his head back into the main room and beckons to Shiro.

“C’mon, you gotta try these clothes on and tell me if you like them.”

Smiling to himself, disbelieving that he could be so lucky, Shiro follows his patron saint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could feasibly stop here, but I don't want to.  
> More to come in the next few days.  
> ... Can anyone guess what book Shiro's reading? :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dun-dun-duuunnnnnnnn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *CHANGE IN TAGS! Past-rape/non-con is mentioned more explicitly in this chapter than in the previous ones. Take care of yourself!

Keith is driving to his second day on the job. Cold air whips along his jacket and the bike purrs familiarly under his grip; this used to be the only place that feels like home, even counting his shack. However, that’s been changing recently. It has now been three full days since Shiro started living with him, and he doesn’t really know what to think or how to go back.

The cat hybrid has slid into his life seamlessly. It makes no sense. Keith is not a people-person. And yeah, maybe the government doesn’t fully recognize hybrids as ‘people’, per se, but Keith can’t quite see the difference beyond some mixed genes here and there. People are so diverse in the first place, so why wouldn’t a more person with some cat or dog traits count? There may be some credence to the general view on the humanity of hybrids, Keith thinks grimly, if he himself is reacting so differently to Shiro compared to everyone else.

 _Ugh. I hate politics,_ Keith thinks as he pushes by the reasons why Shiro fits so well in his little shack. The important thing is that he does, even though it throws him off-kilter.

Shiro is becoming more and more comfortable in Keith’s space, and it elates and discombobulates him all at once. This morning, he woke up to the hybrid softly licking his face and petting his hair back. It should have been gross, really, but the gentle scratch of cat-tongue was actually extremely soothing and Keith pretended to be asleep for another five minutes just so that he could continue to feel taken care of.

That’s another thing. Technically, Keith is the provider; the Garage pays surprising well, given the small-town habitants leaning towards older car models and racking up business every time another clunker falls apart. And Keith will likely continue to be the provider what with hybrid labor laws in place, but it often feels like Shiro is taking care of him. Sure, Keith recognizes when Shiro is anxious and works to calm him down, but the cat-person, more often than not, acts as a balm on Keith’s rough personality. He has a calming effect; every time Keith looks the man in the eyes, he feels softer and happier. Even over the last few days, Keith has become infinitely more comfortable wearing less to bed and wrapping around Shiro when the hybrid is doing the same.

Entering the town’s limits, Keith wonders if he should get a bed for Shiro. The thought sinks his mood immediately. He tries to be rational about why he is sad at the thought; he doesn’t have enough money or space for another bed. It has nothing to do with the possibility that he would be lonely at night without the hybrid to snuggle up to, at this point.

A minute later, Keith pulls his red baby into an employee spot in the Marmora Garage parking lot. He shakes his hair out of the helmet, ties it up, and heads inside. It’s time to work, not get depressive episodes about pretty and confusing cat hybrids.

Keith really likes this job. Besides not having to talk to many people, he loves working with his hands and solving problems. He’s been using his brain and hands since he was little; sometimes, messing around with broken parts was his only comfort. It really makes him feel like he’s _doing_ something, more so than writing a column on the mysterious deaths of Pidge’s Flower Shop geraniums. This isn’t what Keith wants to do forever, either, but his hands will always be there for him when he needs them. And, despite clichés being the worst, being a mechanic feels really masculine. Blessedly, his coworkers don’t seem to care for his slight stature. It’s nice.

As soon as he steps through the front door, the manager directs him to work with Antok today on any of his vehicles. Keith slides on a greasy pair of coveralls and smiles to himself. Yesterday, he had been rankled to hear that he must work with other mechanics for his first week and listen to their advice before working more solo. However, Keith quickly found out that everyone in the Garage is serious and to-the-point, much like Keith himself. He’s sure the big lug known as ‘Antok’ won’t talk his ear off.

Halfway through the day, Antok nudges Keith to take his lunch break. Keith regrettably puts down the soldering iron he has been working with for the past hour and goes to grab his bag. Today, he made tuna sandwiches for himself and Shiro, hoping to appease to the cat hybrid’s less-human tastes. He bites in, and thinks he’ll have to check in with the man to see if he liked the hasty concoction when he gets home tonight. Keith isn’t exactly fond of the taste himself, but he’s fond of Shiro.

More mechanics file into the back room where Keith is eating, apparently enjoying taking lunch as a group despite their quiet nature. Some bring in subs from the great place next door, and some open their own bags to pull out something from home. Keith tries not to be jealous at how much better other people are at making food. It’s fine; boring food means cheaper groceries. Spread out over the small back room of the Garage, the employees dig in and start mild conversation.

“Did you see that junker I’m working on?”

“I can’t believe he hadn’t had a work up in ten years on that thing.”

“Hey, have you seen where the extra blue paint went?”

“I got a chili-marmalade sandwich from Hunk’s today, and it’s actually really good.”

Keith listens to the amicable chatting and feels comfortable. He doesn’t need to join in, he’s perfectly content tuning in and out of the mundanities of his coworkers’ days. But then, one subject is brought up that he can’t ignore.

“Apparently there’s someone who’s not from around here in town.”

Mayo drips from Keith’s open mouth onto his grimy pants, and he quickly wipes it up and listens closely.

“Oh, that rich fuck they were talking about next door?”

“Yeah, that one.”

Okay, so they’re not talking about Shiro. Keith relaxes.

He relaxed too soon.

“They say he’s lookin’ for his pet.”

“Why look here? Dogs can’t get from the city to here without getting being road-kill three times over.”

“Nah, he lost his hybrid.”

Keith freezes; ice trickles down his spine and pools in his gut.

“Weird.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think that was a thing.”

“Oh, did you see the finale last night?”

“No, what happened?”

“Well, it –”

Keith tunes out as he internally self-combusts from nerves. That ‘rich fuck’ can’t be anybody other than Shiro’s owner. The abusive one. The one who caused Shiro to flinch and hide in the bedroom when Keith sharpened a knife last night. The one who dropped a very injured and traumatized hybrid in the middle of nowheresville to an uncertain fate. The one who did _that_ to Shiro’s arm.

The cold in Keith’s gut is quickly being replaced by heat. Heat, actively fanned by anger. If this asshole is looking for Shiro because he realized he threw away the best thing that ever happened to him, he’s gonna get another thing coming.

Keith refuses to let Shiro go back to _that_.

The lunch break ends, and Keith follows Antok back to the truck they’re working on today. Keith starts making little mistakes he wasn’t making before, too distracted to remember basic things he’s known for years. After Keith holds the soldering iron on for too long and melts the thin pipe he was supposed to repair, Antok sighs and sends him to ‘learn about the front desk’. Taking calls and organizing keys with someone whose name escapes him doesn’t even faze Keith; he only cares about one thing right now.

The door tinkles while Keith is ducked behind the desk, rearranging some files absentmindedly. He vaguely registers his coworker – Richard? Reggie? – asking how he can help, but the customer’s voice sets off all of Keith’s warning bells.

“Excuse me, the other day I seem to have lost my catboy around this town. Have you seen him?”

Keith shivers, and keeps hunched low. The voice is slimy and low, and although he may be trying for pleasant, the ‘customer’ comes off as anything but. Not to mention the use of the word ‘catboy’. It’s an ugly term used by ugly people; it’s the word you type into shady porn sites for usually borderline-rape fetish videos. The hybrids are always collared in those videos, a standard that was banned through activist efforts a few years ago.

The Marmora employee who had greeted Keith with a smile responds with a voice like ice.

“We don’t get hybrids around here. If there was one in town, we’d notice.”

It’s a dismissal if Keith has ever heard one. This coworker – god, Keith should really know his name – is smooth in a way Keith never manages to be. Unfortunately, what came off as so slick to Keith apparently has no effect on the man he still cannot see.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think you quite understand. My catboy will be feeling rather upset right now, being away from me in a … town like this.” The more he listens, the more grating on his ears the man’s voice becomes. “You see, he was misbehaving, and jumped out of the car. I regret our altercation terribly; after all, I love him.”

No.

That’s crossing the line. More like, the man catapulted himself so far past the line that it would take eternity to walk back. And Keith is not going to let him.

Keith springs up from behind the counter, surprising both his coworker and the man who is –

Tall. Huge. Dressed in a tailored black and purple double-breasted suit. Missing an eye and it looks like an arm too, a creepy prosthetic replacing the latter. In one word, intimidating.

Keith knows intimidating. Keith can deal with intimidating. And Keith is _mad._

“What rights do you think you have, coming here looking for your hybrid that you couldn’t take care of?! What makes you think you deserve a second chance?!”

The well-dressed man stares at Keith, nonplussed and distantly interested. Keith’s coworker looks shocked, but doesn’t try to stop him.

“Maybe your beloved _catboy_ ” – Keith spits the word out with disdain – “was ‘misbehaving’ for a reason! Maybe you’re just a shitty owner who has no place taking care of another living being!”

At that, the man chuckles. It’s a low and forbidding sound, but Keith refuses to break eye-contact. The man addresses the other Marmora employee.

“You hire people with such foul manners? And here I was thinking this town isn’t all _that_ bad.” A frozen silence endures while the man – Shiro’s _owner_ – looks Keith up and down with a nasty leer and tucks his hands in his pockets. “I hope you learn to tame this one.”

And he leaves, the tinkle of the door a mocking sound.

 

The rest of the work day goes by without incident, Keith no longer distracted by his anger but fueled by it as if efficiency will get him home faster. By the time five o’clock rolls around, he’s buzzing to leave the Garage. Keith practically trips out of his coveralls and barely makes his goodbyes before he’s out the door and on his motorcycle, speeding away.

He needs to see Shiro. He needs to check if he’s okay. It’s irrational, he knows that the creepy well-dressed man from earlier can’t possibly track Shiro back to Keith’s place, but he’s worrying anyways.

Keith makes it home in record time, breaking several speeding laws and not giving a single damn. Barely remembering his kick-stand and completely forgoing the rain cover, he bolts into the poor excuse for a house and finds Shiro caught half-standing with a book in his hands, staring at Keith in surprise. Keith is overwhelmed by a sudden emotion akin to relief that he can’t name, and he sinks down to his knees in the door frame.

Shiro places the book down gently and gracefully joins Keith on the floor, eyeing him worriedly with his ears flicking forward and back. He pushes some stay hairs from Keith’s face and gently bumps their foreheads together. His tail swishes with a little anxiety. Overcome, Keith throws his arms around the hybrid and holds him tight.

“… Is everything okay?” Shiro asks hesitantly, as if he’s not sure it’s his place to even wonder. He strokes the back of Keith’s head with his healing hand and squeezes him closer with the other.

Breathing in the cat-person’s earthy scent, Keith replies, “Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

He’s almost sure that Shiro is going to protest his obvious lie, but instead just nuzzles into Keith’s neck. Keith can’t think of a more perfect person in the world right now.

Opting to divert Shiro’s attention away from stress, Keith struggles partly loose of the hold to close the door, and looks at the hybrid.

“What have you been reading today?” He didn’t get a good look at what Shiro was holding when he burst in, more focused on the man himself.

Lights dance in Shiro’s eyes and a smile is immediately drawn on his face. He looks beautiful like this, more so than usual. Keith is honestly flabbergasted by how much Shiro seems to love books, having only been introduced to them two days before. It’s inspiring him to re-read some of his collection that the hybrid gushes about. Keith’s musings are interrupted by Shiro standing up briskly, pulling Keith up with one arm around his back. He seems to have forgotten their size difference, because when the hybrid notices that Keith’s feet are not on the ground, he plops the human down and grabs his hand instead.

“It’s this amazing book about space and exploring and ships!” – Shiro leads Keith to the couch and starts waving his hands around – “The main character is lonely but he’s making all of these friends from different worlds and they’re joining his crew! It’s suspenseful and there’s fighting and scary aliens! And I just got to the part where they crash on a desert planet –”

“Wait wait wait. Hold up.” Keith’s heart is pounding. He’s never had anyone over, so he didn’t try to hide it, but maybe he should have. “Are you reading … ‘When the Supernova Goes Out’?”

“Yeah, I am!” Shiro looks positively thrilled. Oh god. Keith face-palms.

“Shiro, uh …” This is perhaps the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to Keith. “I wrote that.”

The hybrid goes silent. Keith can’t look at him. Instead, he stares at the poorly-bound third draft of his first serious novel, filled with highlighter and scribbled notes in the margins. When he printed it out a few months ago, he had been so proud of himself that he sewed the pages together by hand and carefully drawn a galactic-themed cover with colored pencils and some pen. And Shiro, one of the only people that Keith can stand spending significant amounts of time with, _is reading it_.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, Keith faces Shiro with embarrassment presented as anger.

“What, do you think it’s shitty? Are you thinking I have no business writing science fiction? Well, you’re not alone there, buddy, so can it.” Keith is shaking.

Crooking his eyebrow, Shiro squeezes Keith’s hand. He glances at the book and then back to Keith, and gives a small smile. It threatens to melt Keith’s heart.

“I love it.”

And there it is. The only thing that Keith really wanted anything to say about his passion. The one thing no one has ever told him, because he hasn’t given them the chance. And Shiro, perfect Shiro, just said it. Keith flushes, and drops his head to Shiro’s shoulder.

“… Thank you.”

Maybe he’ll start to work on editing, again. Maybe someone else could like his writing, too.

 

Keith returns to work the next day jittery. He doesn’t trust that Shiro’s owner is done looking for him yet. The _why_ of the matter driving the man’s search eludes Keith, but the guy seemed intent on finding the hybrid he abused and abandoned.

That day, Keith gets to operate on two different Ford pick-up trucks, but sees neither hide nor tail of the rich fucker. It’s weird. Has he stopped asking around the town about Shiro? Some other employees at Marmora Garage seem to be wondering the same thing, commenting on the way the guy blew through the town like a very unwelcome storm.

“Who the hell loses a hybrid, anyway?” Keith has to agree with the lean and wiry coworker he hasn’t met yet; why go through the trouble of getting a hybrid, spending the money on one, and then treat them like this?

The end of the work day rolls around and they start closing up shop. Something isn’t right. Shiro’s owner had been so persistent yesterday. There’s no way he gave up. So, where _is_ he?

Driving up to his shack, Keith finds the answer.

A sleek black car is parked at an angle outside, and the door is open.

_Shitshitshitshitshitshit._

How did he _find_ them?!

Keith is off his bike in an instant and kicks the front door open fully, and sees his nightmare of the past few days.

The man, still dressed impeccably, is standing over Shiro. He’s holding the hybrid’s injured arm with his metal prosthetic in a punishing grip, going by the sweat sliding freely down Shiro’s face.

Not thinking of anything but _Shiroshiroshiro,_ Keith rips the helmet off his head and hurtles it. The man doesn’t turn, but sidesteps the projectile easily, dragging Shiro along with him by the arm. The hybrid yelps in pain and Keith lets loose.

“You sick motherfucker, let him _go!_ ” Keith swings his left fist and is unfazed when the man once again sidesteps the strike, and lands a kick weighted by thick riding boots in the middle of the double-breasted suit jacket.

The man laughs darkly and trains his one eye on Keith, still not breaking his hold of a whimpering Shiro.

“Aw, it looks like you care for him, don’t you?” The man patronizes. He tugs Shiro onto his feet, and Keith knew the man was tall, but he is _so_ much taller than Shiro. Shiro, who is already tall on his own. “This,” he shakes Shiro by his arm, “is defective. He can’t love you back. Better just let me take him. I already know how to treat him like he deserves.”

Shiro says nothing. He doesn’t struggle. His eyes are glazed. He’s … given up.

Not on Keith’s watch.

“You have _no_ right to treat Shiro the way that you have. Shiro is good and beautiful and you actively tried to beat that out of him! You’re a sick bastard who doesn’t deserve to take care of another living being, hybrid or otherwise.”

Without waiting for the man’s response, Keith charges, heedless that his target is more than twice his size. He goes for a high kick, but the man catches Keith’s foot inches from his ear. Keith stumbles but remains upright even with one leg caught far above his head.

“You poor weak thing.” Keith is _not_ weak. He’s only ever lost in a fight once before, and that was his first fight ever. It’s just that this guy is crazy strong. “It does not matter what you think. The catboy is mine.”

Keith growls. “Not if you abandoned him. I’ll call the police. The evidence of abuse is right there, you’re gonna go to jail. I’ll make sure of it.”

The man scoffs and throws Keith’s leg, causing the boy to fall and bounce on his back a few feet away, hitting his head on the wall.

“I have the police force all over the county under my thumb. You don’t stand a chance.”

Well, that nullifies Keith’s one attempt at verbally gaining the upper hand. His head smarts, and he’s sure he has huge bruises blooming over his back and leg already, but he falls on the only thing he can trust in himself. His fighting.

Burning with pure rage, Keith leaps forward and the man quickly dodges. Without missing a beat, the man cuffs Keith upside the head, but Keith is already turning and drives the toe of his boot in the man’s lower spine. That seems to have an effect; Shiro’s arm is dropped, and the hybrid sags to the floor.

Keith wants to check on Shiro, but the man is coming for him again. He tries to slide away, but dammit his house is small, and he hits his shin on the coffee table and is grabbed by the hair. Yanked up, Keith sees stars and can’t focus. Suddenly, something hits him in the gut, _hard_. The asshole punched him with his prosthetic – that’s dirty, not that Keith was expecting manners or anything.

During the many seconds it takes Keith to recover from the blow, the man rattles him by the hair and snarls, “Give up. It’ll be easier.”

Barely getting his bearings, Keith peers at the man crowding into his space, and spits in the general direction of his face.

“Never.”

He swings, and manages to have the element of surprise, because he connects firmly with a hard jaw and is dropped onto the floor.

Quickly righting himself, Keith whips his leg around to sweep the man off his feet, but _ow_ he is so solid. The man chuckles, and rewards him with an clean Oxford to the solar plexus. All of the air leaves Keith’s lungs in a _whoosh_ , and he’s left in the fetal position, gasping.

Beyond his haze, Keith hears a heavy thud. Nonono, did the guy get Shiro? There are more dull noises, and Keith forces himself to sit up, head spinning. He wrenches his gaze to the where noises seem to be coming from and – oh.

Shiro’s not being manhandled by his owner: quite the opposite. The man now has several bruises across his face, visible to Keith after a particularly strong right hook flips the large man onto the floor. Shiro looks absolutely livid as he stares down at his abuser. Keith is still struggling to catch his breath, and barely hears the hybrid’s next words over his wheezing.

“I don’t belong to you anymore, and I never will again.”

The room is still for a few beats as the words are processed. Keith knew Shiro was strong, and he is overwhelmed with emotion that the hybrid said that.

Suddenly, Shiro’s owner – no, Shiro’s asshole abuser and _former_ owner – stands up straight and flicks some blood from his lip. Scared of what he might do, Keith scrambles to Shiro’s side and stands slightly in front of him, reeling from the brief lack of oxygen.

Prepared to exchange a few more blows, Keith is surprised when the man only looks down at the two with heavy disdain and _tsk_ s.

“I’m bored. This _thing_ isn’t worth the trouble.” Shiro hisses at the words, and Keith tenses up. The man makes unwavering eye contact with much shorter human. “Have a nice time fucking your new broken catboy. He likes to scratch, so go from behind and hold his hair.”

Shocked into rigidity, Keith gapes as the man turns on his heel, rips the front door off its hinges violently with his prosthetic arm, and leaves.

He stares at his front door, lying on the ground, and barely registers the hushed thrum of the sleek back car driving away. Keith almost goes to follow the man on his motorcycle just to have the last word, but he feels an arm snaking around his torso. Shiro is hugging him from behind, breathing heavily.

Trying to bring in some levity, Keith jokes, “I guess it’ll be windy in here tonight, huh?”

Shiro laughs shakily, but squeezes Keith tighter. He presses on a new bruise accidentaly and the human suppresses a wince, and places his arms on Shiro’s. They sink to the floor together, entangled.

Keith is starting to realize the gravity of the situation they just went through, and shivers. He pushes himself around in Shiro’s hold and buries his head in the other’s chest.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispers harshly, “I thought … I almost thought you …”

Shiro cuts him off with a heartfelt nuzzle and cradles him in his arms. Keith doesn’t cry, but he sure feels like he might soon. Instead, he nuzzles the hybrid back and strokes his hands along hard muscle, checking in. He needs to _feel_ that Shiro is alive and here, and still as perfect as always. Shiro returns the ministrations, feeling Keith and noting every hiss where a bruise malingers. Keith commandeers Shiro’s right arm and brushes his fingers lightly against the bandages there. He knows that punching his former owner must have aggravated the injuries, but he can’t help but feel pride in the hybrid for standing up for himself.

Once they have checked each other up and down and decided no injuries were too bad, the touches turn into nuzzles once again. Now, they are feeling each other purely for comfort. Keith finds himself completely in Shiro’s lap, the bigger man purring insistently with his tail flopping around on the floor. Keith’s hands are bracketing the hybrid’s face, as Shiro’s are surrounding the human’s waist. Shiro rubs his nose all over Keith’s neck and face, and it feels good. Keith returns the favor, hoping to show the hybrid how much he cares in any way possible. Their noses brush, and then their lips brush, and then they’re kissing.

Shiro’s mouth is soft and warm, and Keith knows that this is heaven. He threads his hands through the hybrid’s long hair, stroking his velveteen ears, unwrapping the messy braid in the process. Shiro’s hands are under his shirt on the small of his back, and it’s the nicest feeling. Their torsos are pressed together, neither allowing an inch of space. The kiss is slow and sweet, and wet from their shared tears.

It’s going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come in a few days!  
> How smutty do you want ch. 4 on a scale of 1-10 with 1 being rated Teen and 10 being like "woah there okay that's a vivid description of a dick"?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sweet and fluffy, and fucking happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut is unexpectedly hard to write, so thank you for waiting. OTL
> 
> *CHANGE IN TAGS! afab language = typically 'female' terms used for a trans man's body.
> 
> Also, sexy times start when they move to the bed and end at the end, if you want to avoid it.

“Hey.”

A soft hand is stroking Shiro’s face, brushing long hair away. Keeping his eyes closed, Shiro sighs into the touch. He hears a light chuckle, and now his ears are being pet. And isn’t _that_ the nicest feeling.

“Hey, come on, sleepyhead. Wake up.”

The voice is low and scratchy from sleep, and Shiro is being lulled under again. He reaches out blindly and captures a thin waist, pulling it towards him. There’s a squawk of disagreement as he plunges his nose into a belly-button, pushing light fabric up. Keith smells so good. Shiro never wants this to end.

Unfortunately, that is when Keith decides to push the hybrid off, step over his lax form, and rip all of the blankets off.

Whining, Shiro opens his eyes to a grinning Keith, hair and clothes mussed from sleep. His tank top is still riding up from where Shiro had just been nuzzling. He won’t admit it to Keith, but he’s happy that he’s awake and looking at him now; this is a sight he never wants to forget.

Keith flicks him in the nose, chest bouncing attractively in the thin attire, and says “Get up,” before striding into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Shiro smiles to himself, and goes to pull on more than just the boxers he’s currently wearing.

A few minutes later, the two are in the kitchen eating some cereal and fully dressed. Keith’s chest is once again flat underneath a dark band t-shirt with purple ravens, while Shiro is in an outfit that Keith bought for him a few days ago, his tail sticking out a hole in the pants made hastily by scissors.

Today, they’re driving to the next town over to re-embed Shiro’s microchip. There are no hybrid clinics nearby, so they’re doubling the appointment as a regular check-up, too. Shiro is thrilled, though miffed by the one-eighty turn his life has taken recently. His previous owner is gone and not coming back, all thanks to Keith. More amazing than that, though, is that Keith wants Shiro to stay with him. Shiro can’t even comprehend the fact that Keith wants to _kiss_ him, too; that’s a level of intimacy that hybrids never get to experience. Keith is an angel.

Keith sets down his spoon with a _clink_ and looks Shiro in the eyes. Oh, his eyes are so dark and beautiful. These eyes look at him like he’s worth something, like he’s lovable. Right now, they look a bit worried.

“I know we talked about this, but seriously, we don’t have to put any of my information on the chip at all.” So that’s what the human is stressed about. “It can just be your name and stuff. I don’t want to … brand you.” Sweet, selfless Keith.

But Shiro is not naïve. He knows the position of hybrids in this world, and those without owners do not fare well. Besides …

“I _want_ your name in my chip.” Keith scrunches his eyebrows and tilts his head in a show of adorable confusion. Shiro smiles bashfully, and continues, “I know that you see me as an equal, somehow, but at least symbolically, I’d like you to own me.” Shiro ducks his head, embarrassed to have said something so willful.

A smooth finger catches his chin, and the hybrid looks up into a red-faced but resolute Keith. They smile tenderly at each other, and Keith presses their lips together briefly. Heaven.

Dazed and happy, Shiro barely registers Keith cleaning up their bowls. Only when he feels a solid hand on his shoulder does he look into Keith’s serene gaze.

“Okay, let’s go then.” Keith is handing him his new jacket, yet untested outdoors. It’s dark brown leather and infinitely warm, perfect for riding a motorcycle through the chilly autumn air.

Shiro stands up, taking the opportunity to crowd into Keith’s space and quickly rub their noses together. The hybrid leaves the boy spluttering as they walk outside into the late morning light.

Waiting for Keith to lock up the door, Shiro tries not to think about why it now creaks. They re-hinged the door a few days ago, but the memory of why they needed to do so is hard to look past. Shiro guiltily averts his eyes from the shorter boy in front of him, knowing the exasperated look he’ll get if he apologizes one more time for the broken door and the fresh bruises now hidden under Keith’s clothes. _It’s not your fault_ , Keith would repeat. Shiro follows the boy to the bike and tries to believe that.

The ride to the bigger town East of them is smooth, and mostly unhindered by traffic. Keith’s back is warm and solid against Shiro’s chest. Sitting with his thighs and torso pressed against Keith’s own reminds him of the soft dreams he used to have as a kid, now fulfilled by the most perfect man on earth.

At the clinic, the wait is long, and Shiro actively suppresses his frustration for Keith’s sake. He just wants to be officially Keith’s and call it a day, why does it have to take so many forms and signatures and boring chats with middle-aged people in pink pajamas? He never had to go through this with his previous owners.

But looking at Keith’s serious expression as he thoroughly reads through each form and sits through each lecture makes everything worth it. If Keith thinks this is necessary, then it is. Shiro doesn’t really need his scarring arm to be prodded and worried about, but Keith wants it to be. Shiro doesn’t need his temperature and blood pressure taken, but Keith thinks it’s important. The only process Shiro is happy to go through is that of filling out the form for his microchip.

HYBRID NAME: _Takashi Shirogane_

HYBRID TYPE: _cat_

OWNER: _Keith Kogane_

OWNER CELL: …

They walk out of the clinic hand-in-hand, glad the miniature ordeal is over. Bubbles are dancing in Shiro’s stomach, and bursting into happy sparkling feelings. As Keith places his hands on a handlebar, Shiro stops him with a strong hug.

“I’m officially yours, now,” he whispers.

The boy relaxes into the embrace and squeezes back with a strong grip.

“And I’m _yours._ ”

The whole ride back, Shiro pretends that he isn’t crying.

 

The next day is Sunday, and Shiro and Keith are spending it inside on the couch, lazy before Keith has to go back to work for the week.

Keith is working on his laptop, cross-legged, focusing intently on revising the novel Shiro had been reading unassumingly the other day. Shiro is curled up next to him, purring. Every few minutes, when Keith is thinking, he pets the hybrid’s ears absently. The sun is bright, hitting right where Shiro’s socked feet are, and he couldn’t be happier. The scene is everything he’s ever wanted, but in technicolor.

At one point, Keith nudges Shiro with self-conscious questions about the book. Slipping out of his reverie, Shiro sits up and happily launches into his favorite parts of the story. He gushes about the characterization of the love interest and raves about the world-building, especially that _one_ planet they stopped on called –

“Okay, _stop_ , please, you’re killing me.”

Puzzled, Shiro looks, and Keith is covering his face with his hands, ears burning. A little worried, he pries the elegant hands to either side and gets a look at the tomato named Keith. His dark blue eyes are watering slightly from embarrassment, and he’s glaring rather ineffectively.

Smiling, Shiro places his forehead on Keith’s, and says, “I really like your writing.”

Frown dissipating, Keith sighs and closes his eyes, then looks up and smiles wryly.

“I guess if you like it so much, maybe I’ll actually try submitting this next version to a publisher. Hopefully they’ll like it half as much as you.”

Shiro changes his grip on the smaller hands in his so that they’re intertwined.

“I know they will.”

The moment stretches and becomes fond, Keith looking at Shiro with an expression he can’t name. Shiro thinks he might be mirroring that expression, but can’t name it any better under his own skin. It’s soft and light but somehow full of a comforting weight, as if Keith’s eyes are anchoring him down.

Shiro notices when Keith’s eyes flick downwards towards his lips and … Shiro still can’t believe that the full human wants to kiss a hybrid, but he forgets the disbelief as Keith tilts his head ever so slightly, and they’re kissing.

It starts as a light brush of the lips, the same as they have done so far. It’s still a very new concept for Shiro, but he doesn’t want it to stop. Letting go of one of Keith’s hands, he moves the laptop blindly to the coffee table and scoots to cover the boy more completely with his bulk. Keith gasps and his eyelids flutter, and now he’s pressing harder against Shiro’s mouth.

God, and that is so much _better._ Shiro can’t explain why, but this sort of intimacy feels different than that which they share at night or on the motorcycle. He wants _more_ , and he feels selfish. Hesitantly, he licks Keith’s lips, wanting a taste. Keith flinches and immediately Shiro tries to draw back, wanting to apologize, but a whimper stops him.

“More,” Keith sighs on the in-breath, and they’re kissing again, harder than before.

Shiro licks again, but now Keith is prepared and opens his mouth and _that_ is a whole new experience. Overwhelmed with sensation, Shiro straddles Keith’s lap and fully covers the boy’s body with his own. He’s been in this position before with others, but never of his own free will and with pleasure on his end. The grip on his hand goes tight, and Keith manages to wriggle his free hand into Shiro’s loose braid.

Pressed together like this, Shiro has better access to Keith’s mouth, and he feverishly makes use of the new position. He licks deep into warmth, and strokes Keith’s tongue with his own. At first, he was worried that his rougher cat’s tongue would bother the sensitive and smooth human organ, but with the way that Keith is tugging on his braid and moaning quietly, he thinks it’s fine.

They shift, Keith goes stiff under him, and Shiro is suddenly aware of his half-erection pressing into Keith’s stomach. He tears himself from Keith’s mouth, leaving a trail of spit, and looks into the boy’s eyes in horror.

“Oh my – Keith, I’m so sorr –” he babbles, but Keith is pulling him back to kiss him with new vigor. Their teeth clack, but the kiss is hot and yearning.

Breaking their mouths apart, Keith bumps his forehead against Shiro’s and asks, “Are _you_ okay with this?” And wow, Shiro’s not sure he can answer, because all of the blood in his system just rushed downwards.

Managing barely a nod, he dives back in to lick a rough stripe up Keith’s neck. The vein there pulses and Shiro can’t resist dragging his teeth along it, too. Keith gasps, and it’s so pretty, and then wrenches his hand free of Shiro’s grip only to place it on the hybrid’s lower back.

For a moment, the action sends Shiro reeling back to bad times, when the touch had meant something much more negative, but Keith’s heavy breathing draws him back to the present and he nips the boy’s ear, evoking more sweet sounds.

Keith scrapes his nails down Shiro’s spine and up again, causing the man to jolt and accidentally rock his hips up into washboard abdominals. It feels so good that Shiro can’t help but do it again as Keith squeezes him close and buries in the crook of his neck.

Shiro slides his hands from where they were braced on either side of Keith’s head to grip the boy’s biceps. Holding himself still to prevent any more rutting, he whispers hoarsely next to Keith’s ear.

“You sure?” He asks because he’s _very_ sure, and has to know the feeling is mutual because past this point Shiro might start to lose his rationality. He’s not used to intimate acts being pleasurable.

Keith buries his hands in Shiro’s hair and guides the man to look him in the eye. And oh, his eyes are burning. Shiro can feel the look scalding its way down to his stomach and stoking the fire already there.

“ _Yes._ I want you.” Keith’s words are somehow the sexiest thing that Shiro has experienced between them so far, and he captures Keith’s mouth in a quick but passionate kiss.

“I, I need to make sure we know what –” kiss, gasp, “what we’re agreeing to …” Keith reclaims his mouth and shoves a hand up the back of his shirt, causing Shiro to lose his train of thought.

“I want you to fuck me.” Keith hesitates and breaks eye contact for a second. “P-please.”

“Yes,” Shiro roughs out, panting already.

“A-and I don’t have c-condoms, but it’s okay because I’ve been on T for a few years but we can get some tomorrow and –” Keith is getting nervous, and Shiro doesn’t like it. He squeezes the boy’s waist with one hand and lightly tugs on his ponytail with the other.

Into Keith’s dewy, parted lips, he whispers, “Sounds perfect.”

Shiro shifts off Keith completely, leaving the boy wide-eyed and confused and vaguely hurt. Wanting to ameliorate that immediately, Shiro drags Keith by the hips to the edge of the couch and lifts him up. He’s light, for how strong he has shown himself to be.

Keith yelps and laughs, clinging to Shiro’s shoulders and wrapping his legs around his waist. Shiro shifts his hold to be more secure, and they waddle to the bedroom like that, taking only a second to kick the door shut. Moving to the bed is less out of worry of being seen through the window and more because books inform Shiro that loving sex happens on beds, apparently, so that’s naturally where he wants to take Keith.

Pride bursts into Shiro’s chest when he presses Keith into the duvet and receives a whimper for his efforts. He wants to be the reason for Keith’s little noises, and he wants to be that reason _often._

On the bed, their pace becomes slower, more exploratory. Earlier, they were ravenous for each other, and that hunger hasn’t dissipated, but the reality of what they are doing naturally draws things out. Shiro runs his hands along Keith’s sides, hiking up his shirt a bit and then putting it back. Keith massages Shiro’s shoulders with adept fingers, all while making humming noises into his mouth. Even their kisses have slowed down, but to Shiro, they seem deeper and more meaningful.

Shiro gets a thigh firmly between both of Keith’s and _grinds_ as he sucks on the boy’s neck. That evokes a drawn-out moan, which in turn breaks like a wave over Shiro’s brain and he reaches down. Keith grabs his hand with both of his just as he pops the button open, and Shiro stills.

“I just need you to know,” Keith catches his breath, eyes glazed and cheeks bright, “that I’m a guy no matter what my parts are.” Shiro bends down to give the nervous human a quick peck on the pouting lips.

“I know,” he says, reaching down again to undo the zipper while maintaining eye contact. The way Keith’s mouth parts at the touch will be burned on his mind forever.

“And, and,” Shiro stops again, placing steadying hands on the boy’s hip bones. Keith breaks eye contact. “This is my first time.” Shiro barely catches that last bit, mumbled as it was.

He smiles, kind of relieved. Squeezing the hips under his hands, Shiro says, “It’s my first time with someone I want, so we’re in sort of the same boat.”

Keith’s eyes dart back to Shiro’s, and his face crumples. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. All of the sudden, Keith is yanking Shiro’s face up towards him with hands on his jaw for a ravaging kiss, all tongue and spit. With one hand, he lets go and grabs Shiro’s hand and guides it to the opening of his pants, planting it firmly. Shiro smiles into the kiss and feels.

Dipping his fingers between the pants and Keith’s underwear, Shiro can feel that the boy is clearly wet. It’s just another confirmation that Keith wants him, which the hybrid knew, but it still sends a jolt up his spine in pleasure. He continues to kiss Keith as he rubs down, thoroughly soaking the boxer briefs he’s petting. The boy under him shakes and grips his arms with restrained force, and Shiro wants to do everything for his angel.

Breaking the kiss, Shiro wiggles down Keith’s body to slowly pull his pants off, taking the time to feel the soft skin as he exposes it. Keith remains pliant, if still visibly nervous. When Shiro takes the wet, red underwear off, he makes direct eye contact with the boy to monitor his expression. Luckily, each twitch of Keith’s face belies his complete acceptance and desire of the action.

Keith being bare waist down, Shiro takes advantage of his position low on the boy’s body, and kisses him across his inner thighs and hips. Keith squeaks, and fists the sheets. Shiro gently nuzzles the wiry hair in front of him and makes pointed eye contact. He receives an embarrassed nod, and dives right in.

The first swipe of his tongue causes a particularly loud whine, and Shiro is _living_. Keith is so warm and wet and pliable, and Shiro explores. Tucking his shoulders under each of Keith’s parted thighs gives him better access to taste the bounty before him, and he takes and takes.

Tasting Keith like this is a religious experience, Shiro thinks. This slick coating his tongue is the nectar of the gods, each suckle of that precious hooded nub is a prayer, and the moans that reach his slightly crushed ears are a blessing.

Keith whispers, “Your _tongue_ … it’s so rough and good…” Right, his sandpaper tongue. Shiro preens at the thought that Keith likes it, likes something a full human couldn’t give.

Finding his way around Keith’s pleasure is interesting, and Shiro takes his time in discovering the most sensitive spots. The hard clit is his favorite toy at the moment, with each strong lick and kiss earning beautiful noises from the boy above him. He gives it a particularly reverent suck, exposing the jewel completely, and his reward is two hands buried in the hair on his crown, stroking, scratching, and lightly pulling.

As he feels Keith relax, Shiro releases the boy’s clit and moves down to swipe at the leaking hole. Keith trembles, and Shiro raises his head for confirmation, is given a tiny nod, and so he sticks his tongue in as far as it could go. His jaw is covered in slick now, and nothing could be better for Shiro.

Keith’s thighs and hands tighten around Shiro’s head, gently locking him in the most comfortable prison as he continues his ministrations. Shiro slides a hand up to stroke and press on Keith’s belly while he licks and kisses, and he can tell those noises and vibrations from the boy’s chest are good. With his other hand, he reaches down and –

Shit. He has literal claws. He can’t _finger_ Keith. He whines mournfully, and looks up at Keith desperately, wiggling his offending fingers.

The boy huffs, and says, “It’s okay, I want your dick anyways.”

Shiro _whimpers_ at the admission and ducks down to pound his tongue into the boy’s pussy a few more times, eliciting moans on all of Keith’s rapid exhales. The boy is producing a fountain of wet for Shiro to slurp up or pump back in, and he just _knows_ that he would take his dick so well with all this slick – patience, Shirogane. Not yet.

He will really have to file his nails down for next time. _God,_ he hopes there’s a next time.

Anxious now with his erection throbbing painfully against its denim cage, Shiro slides up Keith’s body and noses at him, pleading with his eyes. The human makes a noise at the back of his throat and captures his mouth in a dirty exchange of fluids. Shiro bears his weight down, the hands in his hair pulling and stroking but being mindful of the sensitive ears.

When Shiro moves again to suck Keith’s neck, the boy pipes up with his rough voice hesitantly.

“Can … can I grab your butt?”

Choking into Keith’s neck, Shiro splutters and giggles. No one has ever just _asked_ before. That’s new, and very nice. Certain that his face is in flames, Shiro nods into the boy’s neck.

Keith’s fingers loosen from Shiro’s now-messy locks and lock onto his ass. Shiro unconsciously bucks his hips, rolling his abrasive jeans into Keith’s wetness, but all the boy does is sigh gratefully and squeeze harder. It seems that Keith enjoys rough surfaces on his bud packed full of nerve endings. They continue like that for a few minutes: alternating kissing and biting, Keith massaging Shiro’s ass and occasionally stroking the base of his tail (which sends shivers up Shiro’s spine in the best way), and Shiro bucking gently into Keith and absolutely ruining the front of his pants.

All at once, everything shifts. Keith’s hands are no longer at his ass but rather at the front of his pants, squeezing around his bulge and struggling with the zipper. Seeing white for a moment, Shiro almost misses Keith lean up to his ear and whisper with hot breath –

“I wanna suck you off, too.”

Fuck.

Shiro’s off Keith and rid of his clothes in an instant, pouncing back on the boy with vigor. After a particularly rough kiss, Shiro asks,

“Are you absolutely sure?”

Keith glances between them at Shiro’s weeping cock, hanging heavy and almost skimming Keith’s stomach. His eyes are bright, like starlight.

“Yeah. Lie down.”

The voice is commanding, but gentle, and Shiro quickly rolls over onto his back, allowing Keith space to sit up. The boy gets onto all fours and tentatively strokes from base to tip. Shiro shudders, and decides he can’t just _lie_ there and receive. He has to give as much as he gets.

“Keith.”

The human is still focused on Shiro’s dick, playing with the pre-come and licking his fingers with interest.

“ _Keith._ ”

He looks up, two fingers on his tongue, big eyes glazed.

“Turn around. Get on me, with your ass this way.”

Keith blushes harder than before, and sits back on his haunches.

“But—”

“Please.”

Keith relents, and carefully climbs over Shiro, placing his knees on either side of the man’s torso.

“L, like this?”

“Yeah.”

Shiro grabs the hips dangling tantalizingly in front of his face and draws them to his face. Keith’s ass is gorgeous. He licks a stripe along the boy’s soaking, puffy cunt, Keith arching into the touch. After a moment of neglecting Shiro’s cock to just hold on to the hybrid’s thighs, Keith gets the idea and starts to lick inexpertly.

Soon, they get into a rhythm of lick, suck, touch, that makes both men tremble. Shiro holds onto Keith’s hips firmly, digging in any time Keith finds a particularly good angle at which to stroke or suck. Keith eventually starts to play with Shiro’s balls, cupping them with a soft hand and feeling. No one has ever tended to Shiro like that. The boy’s other hand remains firmly wrapped around Shiro’s base, barely meeting itself around the circumference, but pumping with enthusiasm and growing confidence. When Keith is brave enough to plunge his head down as far as it can go, Shiro gets to feel the back of the boy’s throat for a second, and even the gagging feels amazing around his cockhead. Shiro moans into Keith’s pussy, fucking quickly into the velvet wet with his tongue, holding the folds open carefully with his fingers.

Shiro is getting lost in the feeling of wet warmth on his tongue and around his dick. Everything about Keith is so soft and smooth. Shiro knows that he’s getting messy, letting Keith leak around his mouth and drip onto his chest. Shiro even loves the spit and pre-come drenching his cock and balls, becoming tighter as Keith massages the wet into his skin. The second time that he hits the back of Keith’s throat, Shiro loses it. His mouth goes slack against Keith’s cunt, breathing hot air against it as he keeps it close with an iron grip. He pumps the boy’s mouth full of his sticky come, knowing Keith won’t be able to swallow, and adoring the way it dribbles down over his cock and stomach even as Keith desperately tries to lick it up.

As Shiro comes down, he notices that Keith is still stroking his softening dick for everything that it’s worth, sucking hungrily at the tip. Although oversensitive by a lot, the feeling makes him twitch and scrape along the pearly thighs resting on his face.

Sensitivity wins over the pleasure of the moment, and Shiro flips Keith off and rotates him so they are looking face-to-fucked-out-face. And Keith … he looks so _young._ He’s coated in semen, red all the way to the ears, and tearing up, but the combination of that plus his dazed expression makes him look as young as he probably is. Shiro didn’t realize until now that Keith must be a few solid years younger than him, having idolized the boy for the time they’ve known each other. Ironically, this moment humanizes Keith fully in his eyes, and the last layer Shiro has been keeping to himself falls away.

He kisses Keith on the face, on the cheeks, on the ears, on the neck, on the lips. When he comes up to look the boy in the eyes, Shiro drunkenly runs his fingers through the come on Keith’s chin and willfully pushes it into his open mouth. Keith gasps, and sucks eagerly on Shiro’s fingers, clinging on to his wrist to keep him there. Emboldened, Shiro reaches down with his other hand to gather some of the come that is on his own stomach and hovers his hand in front of Keith’s entrance. The boy nods while sucking his fingers harder, so Shiro pushes the come into his dripping pussy, careful to not scratch the soft walls with his claws. Keith pulses around Shiro’s fingers, and he’s unable to do anything but bite the boy’s neck and whine in pleasure.

The close position of their bodies allows Shiro’s dick to rub against Keith’s belly where his shirt is hiked up, and – he’s already hard again? Keith notices, and slides his hand between them to jerk his erection a few times. Shiro gasps and shuts his eyes against the sensitivity and goodness, which prompts Keith to slow his strokes and ask,

“You okay?” God, his voice is _wrecked_.

“ _So_ okay,” Shiro responds quickly, and bucks into Keith’s firm grip to show just how okay he is. Then, hesitantly, he leans down and whispers into Keith’s ear.

“I wanna fuck you.”

The boy throws his gorgeous head back and moans, “Yes _, please,_ ” in a broken voice. His hair splays out on the pillow like a halo. Shiro hums at the permission, and positions himself between Keith’s legs properly.

“Wait a second,” Keith puts a hand on Shiro’s chest – oh my god, it barely spans one pectoral – and then pulls off his own shirt and binder in quick succession. They nervously check in with each other with a glance, Keith bright red, and then Shiro dips down and presses his lips gently against the center of Keith’s chest where there’s a red line from the hours-long compression. Keith releases a shaky breath, and wraps his arms around Shiro’s neck.

Moving up, Shiro latches onto Keith’s mouth, kissing him intently. With one hand, he rubs up and down Keith’s soft chest soothingly, and with the other, he guides himself in.

The head is a tight fit, and when Keith instinctively clenches down on it, they both groan.

“Okay?” Shiro pets Keith’s hair, now completely fallen out of its ponytail.

“Yes –” Keith’s breath hitches and he clutches Shiro tight around the shoulders. “Keep going.”

Shiro moves slowly, partly to refrain from hurting Keith, and partly to keep himself from coming right now. Keith’s cunt is so tight and hot and _wet_ , and Shiro can barely take it. As each inch of his cock is sheathed, Keith’s breath grows faster and higher in pitch. When Shiro stops to check in, though, Keith claws at his ass desperately, causing Shiro to stutter forward and thrust all the way in.

“Oh fuck –” Keith cries.

Their lips meet in a clash of tongues and exhilaration, needing to be as close together as physically possible. Shiro’s tail swishes above their bodies, unable to restrain from displaying the feeling of pure ecstasy at being in and around Keith in such an intimate way.

Shiro clenches his eyes and belly to prevent himself from coming while focusing on stroking Keith’s soft tongue with his own, rougher one. The thought is tempting right now, but Shiro wants this intimacy to last forever. Shiro has never had the chance to love someone before. He’s never been able to _give_ of his own free will.

As Shiro slowly and painstakingly withdraws out so just the tip is in, Keith’s hands are everywhere. The human is mouthing along Shiro’s jawline and neck while smoothing along bruised and scarred skin. When fingers and then lips brush over his nose scar, Shiro shivers, and pushes back in a bit faster than he had withdrawn.

Their lips meet once again, but this time it’s without lust, and is purely a method of being close. Keith’s eyelashes flutter, his eyes unseeing, when Shiro bottoms out, and his breath stops. Grinding in little circles ever so slowly, Shiro kisses the boy’s nose and forehead and cheeks until he’s focused again.

Keith nuzzles into Shiro’s neck and kisses him there, wrapping his legs like a vise around the hybrid’s hips. Then he whispers,

“I’m okay with you going harder, if you want to.”

Shiro’s breath leaves him all at once, and he starts to fuck Keith with singular intent. How could this beautiful man under him be so _good_ and _perfect_? Shiro’s dick is being squeezed constantly, sending sparks up his spine and dancing in his brain, Keith’s dripping pussy making the slide easy nonetheless. The legs locked around his hips do not make long, dragging strokes easy, but they make it work. Keith said ‘harder’, but Shiro really isn’t prepared to go for a full pounding.

One particular thrust causes Keith to dig his nails _hard_ into Shiro’s ass, and Shiro never liked pain before, but this is different. Spurred on by the blissed expression on Keith’s face, Shiro takes initiative. While sucking a mark on Keith’s collarbone, he angles the boy’s hips up in a way that arches his back at an extreme angle.

“ _Oh_ my god, Shiro, Shiro,” Keith starts to chant, moving to pull rhythmically at the base of Shiro’s tail and scratch with his other hand. Judging by that reaction, Shiro thinks he got something right.

He picks up the pace, gripping Keith’s hips firmly to keep them at the harsh angle. Keith still isn’t exactly _loud_ in this position – Shiro knows him to be a generally quiet person. Still, every whimper and vocalized breath feels like a gold medal for the hybrid. He moves to nip along the boy’s right ear, raking his teeth along the lobe and licking around the shell, hoping to draw out more sounds.

Instead of moaning, though, Keith grips Shiro’s loosening braid to force them face-to-face. Shiro keeps pumping in and out methodically, taking in the way that Keith looks right now. He looks wrecked, dark curls sticking to his face, eyes glassy and pupils blown. His lips are full and starting to bruise from kissing.

“I want you to go harder.”

Maybe Shiro can change his mind about how gentle he wants to be right now. Those eyes are very convincing.

Shiro pries Keith’s legs from their strong grip around his hips, pushes them to the side, and pulls out completely. They both moan at the loss, Keith wiggling around fruitlessly. Then, he gasps as Shiro flips him around easily, tenderly lifting Keith to his knees, ass up. Transfixed by the curve of Keith’s spine and his winking pussy, Shiro takes a broad lick from Keith’s clit to his hole. Keith whines and shakes. He finds that he loves the taste of the both of them together, and shoves his tongue in a few more times before straightening and plowing back in.

The first thrust is smooth and complete, knocking Keith forward from his hands to his elbows. It feels so much _deeper_ this way. Keith cries out loud and long, and this is the decibel that Shiro was looking for. Encouraged, the hybrid places a hand in the messy dark waves of Keith’s hair, and the other on his hip to guide his motion. As he works up his pace, he doesn’t pull Keith’s hair, but grips just to feel the sweaty but silky curls. This position feels amazing, and it definitely seems to be better for Keith, too. The boy is a few dial turns away from screaming, especially when Shiro angles his hips like _that_.

Shiro can’t believe how _wet_ Keith is, and he’s just getting wetter. The slick makes every thrust squelch a little bit, and Shiro feels less ashamed than he should be that he likes it. His pace is near brutal, now, but he still can’t just take and take. With the hand that was buried in Keith’s hair, he reaches around and down to rub the boy’s clit.

“Shiro, Shiro, Shiroshiroshiroaaaaaaahhhh!”

Shiro’s not being exactly quiet himself, now. His breaths are ragged and when Keith pulses around him every few seconds out-of-synch, he moans. He knows his ears are twitching, reacting to every little sound from Keith or himself. It’s all proof that he’s wanted, and that everything here is of their own volition.

Curious to try something, Shiro slows his pace a hair to grind more, and reaches around with his other hand to brush Keith’s jiggling chest. Keith turns his head on the pillow he’s been biting to make blurry eye contact and nod, so Shiro feels the soft tissue in earnest. Each breast fits so well into one hand, allowing him to play with the peaked nipples while massaging. Keith shudders whenever Shiro touches one of the pert buds, which is interesting. When he flicks a nipple, Keith releases a loud cry.

Glancing back to the boy’s face, Shiro notices that he’s _crying_. Oh my god. Keith’s expression is still euphoric, but his eyes are shut and _tears_ are streaming down his face. Shiro halts immediately, pulls out, and flips Keith back over.

“You okay? Baby, is there anything I can do?” he frets, hovering over Keith’s prone body and flitting his fingers around the boy’s cheeks and shoulders.

Keith sniffs, and grasps Shiro’s jaw with one hand in an affectionate caress, smiling wetly.

“You could fuck me more. That would help.” Keith leans up and kisses the surprised look off Shiro’s face and giggles through his tears. “Please.”

Full of too many emotions to count, Shiro leans into the kiss heavily and holds Keith close for a long moment. Then, taking note of his words, Shiro leans back and smiles.

Keith jolts when Shiro lifts his leg high and over his shoulder, a difficult stretch that Shiro is glad Keith can manage. He leans forward, folding the trapped leg towards Keith, whose breath picks up pace again. Then, he pushes in with no hesitation this time and resumes his brutal pace from before.

“Ah, ah, keep going, uuunngghh!” Keith’s tears flow quickly as his breasts jump with every deep thrust. Shiro presses down to both sharpen the angle and kiss the tears off Keith’s cheeks, keeping the pace fast. They feel each other feverishly, touching skin both gently and with nails. Shiro fantasizes while he pounds in that it’s because Keith wants him just as much as he wants Keith, and wants to claim each inch of skin as his own.

Shiro bites Keith’s lifted calf hard, losing a bit of control. He wants Keith forever. This is the first time that he’s wanted something and gotten it, and he wants it to stay that way. _Please please please let me stay, I love you, you’re perfect,_ he doesn’t say.

Keith starts to pulse around Shiro’s cock erratically, releasing slick in a continual gush, and wailing. He scratches Shiro’s sides, his arms, his back. Shiro speeds up, and a scream rips from Keith’s throat, turning into broken moans.

Shiro keeps fucking through it, losing control, and angling his hips up to better please Keith. It’s so, so _hard_ – and so is he – and Keith just keeps _pulsing_. But when Keith grabs his hair and kisses him wildly and stares at him with those intensely blue eyes, Shiro feels his balls tighten. One, two, more pumps, and he’s releasing everything he has into Keith. As he thrusts through his orgasm, the come makes everything more wet and it feels so slick and nice and it’s dripping down Keith’s ass and Shiro’s balls and making everything messy and Shiro _loves_ it. All he can focus on is the wet and the tightness and the fireworks in his gut.

When he stops pumping Keith full of come, he grinds hard. Both of them are oversensitive, but it feels right. Keith kisses him on the nose and squeezes once more, drawing pleasure-pain moans out of the both of them. Shiro pulls out delicately, and collapses. He makes sure to angle himself so that most of his weight is to the side, but he’s still covering Keith. Pressing his forehead to Keith’s, Shiro realizes that he’s also crying, now, tears dripping and mixing with Keith’s own.

The next few minutes are spent with slow kisses and gentle touches, feeling each other just because they can. Once both of their faces are dry of tears but sticky with salt, Shiro pulls back a fraction and they just smile at each other. Keith is so beautiful. His blush is receding, but still nicely coloring his cheeks. His eyes glisten, and his lips look like rose petals. Keith brushes a deceivingly delicate hand down the side of Shiro’s face and sighs contentedly.

Heart bursting, Shiro tears away from Keith’s grip, startling the younger man.

“Wha –?” The sound turns into a moan as Shiro dives once again between Keith’s legs and licks the come out of his devastated pussy. He likes things messy, but it’s always good to clean up after one’s messes. Keith whines with oversensitivity, but holds Shiro’s head there with both hands. Shiro briefly sucks on the swollen clit as thanks before dipping back down into a soft and warm heaven. He doesn’t care that the noises he’s producing are objectively gross, suckling and slurping and humming with content. This is perfection, for Shiro. This is everything he wants, forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's play a game: name how many times Maxx casually mentioned Shiro's trauma and past abuse! :D  
> (I'm kidding please don't.)
> 
> ALSO. Always practice safe sex! Shiro was screened at the clinic so the only issue was birth control, and Keith was okay to not worry too too much about that part either what with HRT. Either way, they got condoms the next day and fucked lots more.
> 
> Thank you all for bearing with me through this first ever fic of mine! It was very fun to write, and completely on a whim. Yell at me @maxxeoff on tumblr!


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